L'espion Rouge
by ANameNoOneCaresAbout
Summary: The Spy, an elusive and mysteriously intriguing man, was once a charming boy named Jean, full of life and possibility. However, when a tragedy happens, his life is changed forever, and maybe not for the better. Here is the Spy's past, unmasked and as real as our own. It is a story of heartache, pain, longing, and truth. This is the Spy's story. (Rated T for now.)
1. Dark Beginnings

L'espion Rogue

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Team Fortress characters that will be mentioned much later on in this fanfiction. Too bad, right?**

_A/N (Skip if you want): Well, hello new and possibly returning readers. First, some information: I have been up to the gills in college work and other related crap, and I haven't written a fanfiction in almost half a year. So I decided, what the hell, I might as well shelve something out and see if anyone cares or likes it. Then again, I'm not expecting warm embraces and overwhelming attention after my long absence. Anyway, I had developed this strange desire to write my own spin on the Spy(from Team Fortress; you already know this)'s history and past. A man of mystery and intrigue, non? I had actually started to play some Team Fortress 2 myself and I enjoy it a lot. I figure if this story is successful as a fanfiction, then, possibly, somehow, I'll make it a novel and see how it goes. So you readers let me know what you think, possibly what you suggest could happen in the story etc. I already have a rough outline for the first seven chapters, but this story won't be updated very quickly due to me being in college and undergoing major studying for Psychology and the like. To make this long author's note short, I've updated to express that I'm still living. Now stop reading this and read the real story. (As the title suggests, it's about the Red Spy) _

_One last thing: All French words translations are provided at the end of the chapter._

* * *

><p><span>Chapter One<span>

Dark Beginnings

* * *

><p>Snow spiraled in lazy arcs and twists outside, the howling wind pounding on the hospital window, as if desperate to enter and feel the warmth of the fireplace and the heat lamps. The spindly trees swayed, their branches heavy and lined with white. The dark, ominous sky seemed to glare as the storm's fury lashed the world, determined to encase it in ice, snow, and cold. However, beneath that frigid blanket, life still sustained itself.<p>

Inside the hospital, a woman grunted, her fists clenched, her face screwed, as she lay supine on a bed. Her husband stood close by, his gaunt, handsome face filled with intrigue, concern, and anticipation. He put a hand on her shoulder, and his wife gaze at him for a moment before a spasm of pain made her grit her teeth.

"The baby is coming. Keep pushing, Liliane. Everything is going well," the doctor said, his spectacles sitting lopsidedly on his nose. He moved closer as Liliane tensed her body, a small yelp exiting her. "That's it. Keep going," he said as the baby's head emerged. "You're almost done."

Liliane's husband grasped her hand and he winced as she squeezed it with white knuckles, giving him a pained smile. One more birth ripple possessed her and she panted as she felt her baby slip out, wailing in the hands of the doctor as he cut the umbilical cord. For a moment, shock filled her and she could do nothing but stare, her pupils dilated, paralyzed.

"It's a boy!" the nurse said, looking relieved and joyful, but the baby's screeches drowned her voice. The doctor placed the baby on Liliane, and the feel of her newborn son revived her. She gazed at him, bringing him to her breast to feed, love shining in her eyes.

"He's beautiful," she whispered, her voice raw and pain-filled as she looked at nothing else but her son. She marveled at his fingers and toes, seeing no deformities, wrapping the blanket and her hospital robe around him to keep him warm. Exhaustion filled her, making her eyes flutter. She and her son barely flinched as the wind roared furiously and made the window rattle again.

Faintly, she heard her husband ask, "What shall we call him?" but she felt everything fade away as sleep and peace took her.

* * *

><p>Jean, as the baby came to be called, giggled as he raced through the house, Liliane in close tow. His feet pounded the floor, and he squealed as his mother swept him into her arms, affectionately nuzzling and kissing him. He wriggled, laughing and waving his arms until she let him go, to chase him once again. Down the hallway and into his bedroom he ran until his mother caught him once more, showering him with more love before letting him go.<p>

"_Maman, _play hide and seek," Jean said, bouncing up and down on the floor. "Pwease?"

"Okay, Jean. Go hide," Liliane said with a soft laugh, turning her back and closing her eyes.

Jean giggled and dashed out of the room, heading for the nearby closet, his favorite place to hide. He scooted into the corner, waiting for Liliane to find him, and giggled again, hearing her say, "Okay, Jean, I'm coming to get you."

He peeked out from the closet to see Liliane gazing about the bedroom, looking under the ornate bed. She loitered for a bit more, moving the family chest and the ottoman, before she exited the bedroom, heading to the bathroom. As she passed by the closet, Jean slipped from the cover of the darkness and tip-toed behind his mother, careful not to make any noise. This was the best part of the game to him.

Just as she opened the bathroom door, Jean poked Liliane in the leg and called out, in a gleeful tone, "I'm right behind you!"

Liliane jumped, a small yelp exiting her, then she laughed, her hand on her bosom. "Jean, you scared me! How did you creep up on me like that?" She bent down and began to tickle Jean, making him squeal and laugh. "Don't scare mommy like that. Okay?" However, they both knew it would happen again; Liliane refused to put a damper on her son's spirits, and she hated to scold him for anything. His little twist on the game made it more fun to her.

"Could you two quiet down out here? Some people can't get a decent nap with all this noise going on," said a disgruntled voice as an older woman, Jean's grandmother, shuffled into view, her gray hair askew. Her blue eyes shone with a coldness that would freeze fire. Her stooped posture revealed more about her age, and she fixed those cold eyes onto Jean, glaring. "Why must kids always be so noisy? Liliane, you must teach Jean to be more respectful."

Jean wilted as he saw her, his smile fading. However, Liliane stood to his defense. "He's only young once, _M__è__re_. When he's older he'll learn respect. For now, let him play and be happy." Liliane's expression darkened as sadness warped it. "In these times, happiness is the one thing that will keep us alive."

"Pah! What will keep us alive is a decent meal and a stable house. Happiness means nothing for survival, and being happy all the time won't make this Depression go away, Liliane." Jean's grandmother waved a hand in disdain. "Happiness is only for the aristocracy. Now, let me sleep." She turned and entered the guest room, slamming the door behind her.

Jean trembled until Liliane picked him up, kissing his cheek. At once, his fear subsided and he snuggled into his mother's shoulder as she carried him to his bedroom. He smiled and felt exhaustion fill him. It had been a very productive day for him, and now he readied himself for his nap as Liliane placed him in his bed. With his thumb in his mouth, he let sleep come, feeling everything fade.

He woke later on to see Liliane enter the room and say in a soft voice, "Jean, time for dinner."

Jean leaped up from his bed, hearing his stomach growl on cue. His mother laughed and scooped him into her arms, bringing him to the kitchen. He gazed about and his vision alighted on a peeling strip of wallpaper next to a picture of his family. For some reason, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange sight. Not even when Liliane sat him at the table did he look at her or the two slices of bread placed in front of him.

The kitchen had one rickety table situated in the middle of the room, with a gas oven that had a fine layer of dust on it. A vase of wilted flowers sat on the window ledge, the overcast sky casting a faint luminance on the petals. The walls, colored a light beige, had food and dirt stains splattered here and there. The tiled floor, cracked in some areas and dirty in others, signified the lifestyle of the family. The old wooden dining chairs were the only spiffy-looking objects in the room. Here, at the table, Jean's attention finally focused as his stomach growled again. He stuffed the bread slices in his mouth, chewing, some pieces of dough slipping from his mouth to land on the table.

Liliane filled a cup with water and handed it to Jean, a grimace on her face. She held her stomach as it growled, but she did nothing about it. Merely, she watched as Jean drank the water in hearty gulps, beginning to splutter.

"Don't drink it too fast, Jean. You'll get a tummy ache," Liliane said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. She paused as a man stepped into the room, and, at once, her eyes lit as she rushed towards the person.

"_Mon mari_!" Liliane embraced him, looking relieved and joyful.

The man, Jean's father, kissed her on the cheek, a tired smile curling his lips. His blue eyes seemed to shine with life in the dismal kitchen. His short black hair made his eyes stand out, and he stood with an almost authoritative air. His tan uniform barely showed any wrinkles after Liliane drew back from him, and his powerful chest and shoulders filled his military outfit well. After scanning the kitchen, his gaze alighted onto Jean, who leaped from his seat and dashed to his side.

"Papa!" Jean hugged his father's leg and grinned as he felt a hand ruffled his smooth black hair.

"How's my boy?" his father asked, his grin widening. "Each time I see you, you've grown another few inches. If only I could..." Suddenly his smile faded, and Jean cocked his head, not understanding.

"Pierre, _mon amour_, you're trying as hard as you can." Liliane took his hand and squeezed it, shooting him a smile and a pointed look. "Come sit. You look exhausted."

Getting the hint, Pierre looked at Jean and smiled again, sitting into a chair with a sigh. "God, it feels so good to sit and stretch my legs. I've been on the run all day, quite literally. Sit on your Papa's lap, son."

Jean didn't waste any time climbing onto his father, sitting and looking as though he owned the world. Such glee filled him, and he giggled as he straddled his father's leg, earning another smile from Pierre.

"Training was hard again?" Liliane asked, filling a glass with water and giving it to Pierre.

"Yeah. Those Germans are planning something. Ever since Hitler took back the Rhineland a few days ago, I have a feeling he's like a ticking time bomb. We have nonstop watches all along the borders we share with Germany." Pierre took a drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and continued, "If Hilter was to amass an army and attack us now...we wouldn't be able to fight back, not with this Depression weighing us down."

"Darling, this isn't something our son should hear," Liliane said, sitting at the table herself.

"Let him hear it, Liliane," came Jean's grandmother's voice. "Let him hear about our grim reality. Our poverty. He deserves to hear about what his fate will be, provided he grows up to be a man and not like the swindling filth that loiters about France."

"That's enough, Èvelyne," Pierre said, his voice growing tight. "I will not have you talk like that around my son. He may understand more than you think. I don't want the world to corrupt him."

"Pah, from the way I see it, he's already corrupted," Èvelyne said with a sneer. "Always running about the house like a madman. Popping up behind our backs and scaring the daylights out of us. He thinks it's all a game now, but he'll learn soon enough." Her gnarled fingers tapped the wooden table.

Pierre rolled his eyes. "When he learns, he'll learn. It's 1936. He doesn't know he's growing up in...tough times." He glanced at Jean, then turned to Èvelyne. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Your conversation simply drew me in here, nothing more." Innocence shone in the crone's eyes, and she bared her teeth as a cough-like laugh erupted from her.

Liliane sighed and stood, going over to Jean. "Jean, let's go to your room. Mommy, Papa, and Grandma won't be talking about nice things."

"_Non. _I want to stay," Jean said, surprising Liliane with its firmness, and Èvelyne hacked out another laugh.

"See, Liliane, he's been corrupted already. Let the boy hear our talk. At least we'll enlighten him early on in life," she said, and her face screwed up into itself as she continued to spew her humor. Her expression flattened when Liliane brought her two slices of bread with a glass of water. "What _is_ this?"

"Dinner, _M__è__re,_" Liliane said, her tone sounding defeated.

"Bread." Èvelyne's eyes narrowed. "Again?" She grabbed the slices and inspected them, as if she had never seen bread in her life. "How can you expect any of us to survive on just dough and water, Liliane?"

"That's all that's left in the cupboard. That's it. We are officially out of food, and our little farm outside is dead." Liliane threw her arms out in a flourish. "What, you were expecting a grand meal with three courses? You know all we can eat nowadays is bread, and that's the only thing I can buy with the amount of money we still have. Don't you dare blame me for not supplying for the family!" Anger shone in her normally placid eyes, and Jean sat rigid on his father's lap, his own eyes wide. He flinched as Liliane began to cough, doubling over with the effort.

"Look what you've done, Èvelyne," Pierre said, shooting a glare at the older woman. "You know you can't work Liliane up like that. She's still recovering."

"Oh, please!" Èvelyne snorted. "She's been "recovering" for five years already. You can't tell me Jean's birth damaged her that much." She gave Jean a thoughtful, almost menacing, look then. "Possibly that means he shouldn't have been born."

"That's enough!" Ire formed in Pierre's expression as he stood, placing Jean on the floor. "You've said plenty. Now keep your peace and get out, Èvelyne."

Èvelyne chortled, her lips half-parted, making her look feral. "Oh, you can't make me, "Commander_". Merde, _an old woman can't even make conversation with the young folk anymore without being shunned." She stood and shuffled from the kitchen, then she stopped and threw them a look over her shoulder. "You three won't survive long in this lifetime, should you always assume a positive outlook. France is doomed. She's rotting from the inside out because her people are ignoring what's really there. I'm your only saving grace." She laughed again and disappeared, heading back to the guest room.

Jean glanced at his parents, confused by the events that had transpired, but they didn't provide an explanation. Liliane sidled into a chair and covered her face, Pierre watching where Èvelyne had went, a dark look on his face.

"I hate when she works me up like that. Then I start coughing and..." Liliane trailed off.

"...Shh, don't worry about her, Liliane. Take a few deep breaths."

"I know, but when she starts all that nonsense about Jean being worthless..."

"Not in front of our child, love."

"_Maman_? What was _Grand-m__è__re _saying?" Jean felt he had to interject, still not comprehending his grandmother's words and why his parents looked agitated.

"It was nothing, Jean. Don't worry about _Grand-mère_. She's not happy today." Liliane looked at him. A cough exploded from her again, and Pierre patted her back, looking unsettled. Once her coughs subsided, he took out his pocket watch and peered at the time, sighing again.

"I have to return to the barracks now," he said, closing the watch and dropping it into his uniform's pocket.

"So soon,_ mon amour_? Please stay for a while longer." Liliane looked at him, slight desperation in her eyes.

"I must, dear wife. I'm due for my night shift." He stood and went over to Jean, ruffling his hair again and kissing his head. "Keep on growing, Jean. I'll be back sometime next week; Papa has work to do." He turned to Liliane and kissed her passionately, his hand cupping her cheek as they embraced.

Jean felt entranced by what his parents were doing in front of him. He watched, seeing the love between them, yet not grasping its meaning. Something about the affectionate gesture struck him, just as the peeling wallpaper piece had; he couldn't tear his eyes away. Something unlocked in him as his parents drew back, the moment ending. He realized he wanted them to touch lips again and be together for a while longer. He knew his father visited once a week, but a certain yearning in him wanted his father to stay and play with him. To reassure him that he did have another parent.

"Goodbye, Liliane," Pierre said, embracing her one more time and shooting a wink at Jean. Once he drew back, he left, his posture hunched.

Liliane watched him go before she sat back in the chair, covering her face again. Another cough exited her, making Jean flinch.

"My poor son," she whispered, and Jean looked at her intently, "if only you understood the world you're living in..." Her head shook back and forth. "Being happy is the only way to survive now..."

Jean felt a presence behind him, and he turned to see Èvelyne hobble into the kitchen, her blue eyes alight. He turned back to his mother, who peered from behind her hands at her mother.

"So, the "Commander" has flown the coop until next week, eh?" She gave Liliane and the kitchen a contemptuous sniff. "Personally, I think his loyalties lie elsewhere. What man can't visit his family at least a few days a week, even if he's in the military?"

"You've spoken enough tonight, _M__è__re."_ A hardness came into Liliane's eyes. "Why must you always trash my family and be nosy about every affair we undergo?"

"I'm a part of that "family", or have you forgotten?"

"Just stay out of our business."

"While I'm here, I'm involved. I'm not exempt from your family's poverty, Liliane."

"There you go again, pinning your blame on me again."

Jean watched his mother and his grandmother argue, curling his posture to make himself smaller. He wanted to go to his mother's side, but, on the other hand, he didn't want to risk having his grandmother spew contempt at him again. So he sat, twiddling his thumbs, grimacing as Liliane and Èvelyne ignored him, locked in their heated debate. He yawned as his stomach growled, and he clutched his stomach, mimicking his mother. He wondered why she hadn't eaten the bread and had given it to him and his grandmother instead.

After a while of contemplating it, Jean gave up and tiptoed back to his bedroom. However, his grandmother noticed him sneaking away and said, "You better shape up, boy. If you don't want to be anymore of a disgrace to the family, you'd better grow up fast."

Jean covered his ears and climbed into his bed, seeing the fading twilight outside the window. He yawned again, hearing the creak of the house's wooden foundation, and sighed. Thoughts of his father entered his head, and he felt a strange sadness fill him. He knew his father was busy, but he didn't know why. All that talk about Hitler and Germany had escaped him, naturally because he was young. However, the way his father and mother had discussed it made him feel a slight tinge of dread. Èvelyne's words bounced in his mind now, and he suddenly wished he could be older. He wanted to understand the world. He didn't want to be the odd man out.

He pulled his blanket over his head, hearing his grandmother and his mother talking in the kitchen. Their voices had lowered now, but he could still discern tension in the house's atmosphere.

Before his eyes closed, he noticed the mirror on the other side of the room for the first time, and, in the gloom, he saw a dark shape reflected in it. Fear made his blood turn cold as his limbs tensed. The figure didn't move, but Jean had a feeling it was watching him, just as he was watching it.

"_Maman_!" he cried out, his voice trembling and high-pitched, and Liliane came running into the room.

"What, what is it?" she asked, heading instantly to his side, her hand touching his cheek. "Are you okay, Jean?"

"Scary..." His paralysis faded, and he pointed to the mirror with a shaky finger. He gasped as the figure in the mirror did the same, and he hid under his blanket. He wanted whatever was in his room to get out, and he began to shake.

"That's you in the mirror, Jean. You can't tell because the lights are off." Liliane sounded relieved that the reason for his fright was so minor. "Don't worry, your reflection won't hurt you."

Jean popped his head out from his blanket and looked at her in askance before he turned to face the scary mirror. The growing darkness still chilled him, but he felt somewhat reassured by his mother's presence.

"Scared of his own reflection in the dark?" Èvelyne asked, a sneer in her voice, as she entered the room as well. "He'll accept the darkness in due time, I assure you of that." A strange tone in her voice made Jean cock his head. His grandmother's words gave the impression that she was foreshadowing something, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

She chuckled and left Jean's room, heading to the guest room, leaving Liliane with her son. Liliane shook her head and kissed Jean's forehead, asking, "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"_Non_." His grandmother's words had reached him, and he wanted to be strong now. He didn't want to be the object of scorn. Perhaps if he proved that to his grandmother, then she wouldn't say nasty things to him. Even if he couldn't understand her words half of the time, he came to recognize her tone of voice whenever she regarded him.

"All right. Good night, Jean. Sweet dreams." Liliane didn't sound hurt by his decision. She kissed him again and left, leaving the door open a crack.

Jean stole a glance at the mirror, the darkness in the room masking his reflection, and tentatively pulled his blanket over him again, closing his eyes. His stomach rumbled once more, but he ignored it, somehow knowing he wouldn't get anymore food until morning came. "_Maman_..." he whispered before sleep took him, enveloping him in black nothingness.

* * *

><p>Translations:<p>

Maman- Mommy (Informal)

Mère- Mother (Formal)

Mon Mari- My Husband

Mon Amour- My Love

Non- No

Merde- Shit

Grand-mère- Grandmother/Grandma


	2. Life's Allure

L'espion Rogue

**Disclaimer: ".."**

Chapter Two

Life's Allure

* * *

><p>Jean sat in his room a week later, staring at the building blocks near his feet. He looked at the different colors on the wooden cubes, trying to remember the names of each hue, but he didn't play with them. Strangely enough, they didn't entertain him as much as playing hide and seek did. The inanimate blocks, despite their interactivity, did little to keep his interest, and he stood, deciding to head to the kitchen. Perhaps his mother would be there to give him something to eat.<p>

As he headed into the hallway, he heard a sound come from the open window. Curious, he wandered back into his room and looked to see three children dashing about outside, laughing and squealing. One of them, a pale-skinned girl, looked almost like an apparition as she ran, her platinum blonde hair streaming from her head. The other two, both blonde-haired boys, appeared to be twins as they chased the girl. Jean's interest spiked at seeing other children. For him, his life circulated around his father, mother, and grandmother. He knew no one else outside of his house. Yet, despite his curiosity, he felt no desire to dash out the door and join them in their game. He watched for a bit more, then left his room and went to the kitchen.

A peculiar stench wafted from the kitchen, and Jean's little nose wrinkled. "Ew..." he said to himself, and he paused, feeling surprise come over him as he saw Èvelyne seated at the table, a slender cigarette between her knobby fingers. She smirked at him, but said nothing, putting the cigarette to her lips and taking a deep inhale. Jean cocked his head, stupefied by what she was doing. He was glad, however, that she hadn't shot a string of hateful words at him yet. He awaited for that to happen as he glanced about the kitchen.

Finally, he had to ask, "Where's _Maman?"_

"Sleeping." Èvelyne appeared to be preoccupied with something, and her voice didn't sound as tight as usual. She looked at the window, and a stream of smoke flowed from her mouth. Jean soon made the connection that the cigarette in his grandmother's hand made that disgusting smell, and he coughed.

"Oh don't you start coughing now. I've had enough of hearing your mother do it everyday. I don't need another person hacking their brains out around me." Èvelyne glowered at him, now sounding like herself. "Why don't you go outside and play in the neighborhood and get some sun on your face? Instead you just loiter about the house like a misfit."

Jean said nothing, hearing the children outside again, their joy entering the house. Just like before, he felt disinterest, and he left the kitchen as the soft, horrible sounds of Èvelyne's laughter pierced his ears. He went to his mother's bedroom, wanting to escape his grandmother's contempt. Upon entering, a king-sized bed greeted him in the middle of the room. An old, ratty rug surrounded it, its ornate design fading due to time and neglect. Dark-red curtains shrouded the windows, sealing the room in darkness. A dresser and a bureau stood on opposite sides near the bed, two family pictures sat on the dresser and a few shirts hung off the bureau in a messy display.

Jean went to the bed, seeing his mother's sleeping form under the blankets. Her body rose and fell subtly, and he hesitated in waking her. Then a cough sounded from her, and as her eyes opened she noticed him standing near her.

"Hey, Jean, __mon ____b___è__b__è,_" she said, her voice dry and parched.

_ "___Maman___,_ let's play!" He was oblivious to her lackluster expression.

"Maybe later, Jean. Mommy's tired." Liliane closed her eyes and didn't say another word, her breathing slowing. Her skin was pallor; dark circles easily popped into view under her eyes, but this observation was lost to Jean.

Her refusal stung him, and he slunk from the room, casting a glance backward, as if expecting Liliane to leap from the bed and rush over to him, wanting to play with him. However, that never happened; his mother had fallen asleep again. He sensed something was wrong with her, but he couldn't figure out what. After a moment, he pushed the thought out of his mind, knowing what he would do. I'll play by myself, he thought, heading right to the closet.

A smirk curled his lips as he sneaked into the darkness, imagining a person outside the door, their back turned, not suspecting him. Immediately, he became immersed in his game, his eyes narrowing, as if calculating the best time to strike. Anticipation and euphoria filled him as he pictured the person thinking he was at ease and alone. The allure of his invisibility filled him, and his smirk widened. He felt most alive when he was just out of sight, prepared to surprise. He didn't know why he felt such excitement at being sly and sneaky, but it was the only way he could pass the time, and he enjoyed it immensely. It made him feel powerful, different from the weak boy he was now.

Jean waited a few more seconds before bursting out into the open, saying, "Peek-a-boo!" Dissolving into giggles, he rushed back into the closet, the image of his imaginary person running for dear life in his head. Oh what fun he was having! This provided more entertainment than building blocks or companionship. He settled down and pictured a new person this time, inching closer to the door, his smirk returning. Again and again he leaped from the closet, feeling gleeful. He knew surprising a real person satisfied him more, but this sufficed for now.

After his fifth time of leaping at his imaginary person, Èvelyne yelled from the kitchen,_ "___Tais-toi___!", _making him flinch.

Feeling properly chastised, Jean entered his room and sat on his bed, his spirits low. Then his eyes drifted to the mirror, and he stood, going over to it tentatively. This time no dark shadow lurked, watching him. Instead, he saw himself, a ragged, black-haired boy with innocent blue eyes, tan skin, and a slim—almost too slim—body shape. Fascination filled him as he took in his appearance. With each movement he made, his reflection did the same, however it remained two-dimensional. He amused himself, waving his arms and making faces, until his stomach growled. This spurred him to go back to his mother's bedroom.

_ "___Maman___, _I'm hungry," he said, tapping her covered body. She didn't reply, and he poked her again._ "___Maman___."_

_ "___Grand-m___è__re_ will take you to the plaza to get something to eat today," Liliane finally responded, her voice heavy and dull. "Go tell her."

"Okay." Jean left the room and went to the kitchen, seeing Èvelyne still sitting at the table, meeting his eyes with a dark gaze. He was happy the cigarette smell had faded._ "__Grand-m___è___re,_ I'm hungry."

"I could care less," Èvelyne said cruelly.

_ "___Maman__ says you take me to eat at the plaza." Jean said, not backing down, and his grandmother huffed, looking miffed.

"Of course she'd throw her responsibilities onto my shoulders. She expects me to take care of you without any complaint, right?" She stood and reached for her cane and her ratty purse. "Well, don't just stand there, Jean. Let's get this over with before I change my mind."

Reluctantly, Jean followed beside his grandmother as she left the house, feeling the sunlight on his skin. She didn't reach for his hand, and he didn't reach for hers. Instead, he focused on the glorious daylight and the puffy clouds racing by in the sky. A light breeze rustled his hair and clothes and he felt his spirits rise again. Trees swayed in the spring wind, their leaves appearing to wave at him as he passed them. Everything seemed to be full of life to Jean, and he reveled in it, his eyes taking in any and every thing.

He heard a congregation of sound, and his eyes widened as they entered the plaza, seeing colorful banners and vendors crying out about their wares. Delicious smells wafted from various cafes, and a few people walked here and there, buying food or even clothes. Jean was entranced by the atmosphere of the plaza and the delightful sounds and sights that met his senses. Èvelyne, however, seemed immune to this as she strode forward, her cane clicking on the cobblestones, making Jean hustle to keep up with her.

The sun felt delightfully warm on Jean's back, and a smile grew on his face.

Èvelyne stopped walking once they reached a majestic fountain and turned to face him. "What do you want?" she asked, the look on her face making his smile fade.

He glanced at the vendors and the cafes, unsure of what to choose, when a delectable smell came to his nose. Without hesitation, he rocketed off to the source, leaving his grandmother to catch up to him this time. He stopped in front of one vendor who sold fresh macarons by the bag, and breathed deep, feeling his mouth begin to water. The vendor, a fair-haired woman, giggled and leaned over to see him better.

"Such a handsome boy you have, Madam," the vendor said, her brown eyes dancing. "So precious."

"Yeah." Èvelyne seemed to hold back a sigh. "What are you selling here?"

"Well," the woman gestured to her cart with a flourish, "I have macarons, fresh and utterly delicious. Would you like some?"

"Pwease?" Jean turned to his grandmother. "I'm hungry."

"I know that." Èvelyne gave him a look and reached into her purse for her money. "How much do you charge for these "delicious" macarons? It better not be a big expense."

Either the vendor was oblivious to Èvelyne's mood or she was simply ignoring it, for she smiled even wider. "Ten francs for a bag of five."

Jean watched as his grandmother grumbled and fished out the money, giving the vendor a grudging look as she took the money with a cheery expression and handed her a macaron bag.

"Thank you. Have a wonderful day, Madam, and you two cutie pie," she said, and she winked at Jean, who grinned back at her.

"Let's go, Jean. We spent enough time here." Èvelyne turned and headed back in the direction of the house. Jean gave the friendly vendor a final look before he followed his grandmother, already thinking of devouring the macarons as soon as he arrived home.

A curious sight made him pause as he saw a man laying on a bench, covered with newspapers. The person had curled himself into a fetal position, as if to protect his very being from the sunlight. The wind made a few newspapers shake and slide, but the person didn't react, nor did he move. Jean was mesmerized, having never seen a person in that state before, and his intrigue made him want to go closer to the man. There was something about him that intrigued him.

Èvelyne noticed him looking at the man and said, "Be grateful, Jean, that we're not living like that filthy man. However, if your mother continues to lay in bed with her inner woes, we just might experience living like him." Her eyes held a certain hardness in them, and she shook her head. "A pity our socialist Popular Front can't work miracles to end this Depression sooner. Politics are full of men with all bark and no bite. They're a disgrace."

Jean glanced back to the man before his grandmother growled at him to hustle, and his thoughts returned to the macarons. He contemplated asking Èvelyne about having one now, but the look in her eyes still frightened him. He couldn't wait to get home and escape from her for a while. He didn't think she might be a negative impact to his personality and to his values on family.

Upon entering the house, Èvelyne gave the bag to Jean, who scurried out of sight to eat in his room. He couldn't wait; he could still smell the macarons' freshness in his nose. This desire made him tear open the bag and reach for a brown macaron, stuffing it into his mouth. The sweet juices from the cream and the cookie itself overwhelmed him, and soon the bag was finished, buttercream icing sticking to his fingers and mouth. He felt fuller than he had in days, and he lay in bed, feeling sleepy.

The house was silent, the afternoon sunlight drifting into Jean's room, making him think about the infectious quality of the plaza, how alive it was as opposed to his life. He would have lingered longer if his grandmother hadn't rushed him back home. It made him wonder why she seemed to hate him. He knew she couldn't tolerate him and took every opportunity to chide and ridicule him. He was glad his mother and father stood up for him, but it didn't stop the river of cruelty from exiting Èvelyne's mouth. All her verbal abuse entered his mind, and his happiness evaporated. What possessed her to torment him? Her words tended to haunt him at night, and he wanted to escape from them.

He must have fallen asleep, for he woke to hear noises coming from the kitchen. His stomach gurgled, despite being full from the macarons, and he slid from his bed, wanting to check out what was happening.

Jean didn't have to travel far, for his father came into view, heading over to him, looking exhausted, but happy to see him.

"Papa!" Jean rushed headlong into his father's arms once Pierre crouched to envelop him in a tight embrace.

"How's my Jean?" Pierre asked, a grin on his face. He glanced about and looked at Jean again as he drew back and stood. "Where's Mommy?"

_ "___Maman__ is sleeping," Jean said, and a troubled expression came over his father's face.

Pierre headed to the bedroom, Jean in close tow, feeling a pit of dread open in his stomach for some reason. His father shook Liliane to wake her, and his eyes flew open as he felt her skin.

"What's wrong?" Liliane woke and noticed her husband looking at her.

_"Ch__èri__,_ your skin is hot. Are you running a fever?" Pierre felt her forehead and stood, a decision in his eyes. "I'm calling a doctor. You're sick."

"Wait, Pierre, don't..." A cough made Liliane's sentence trail off, her body shaking.

He seemed not to hear her as he rushed to the telephone in the kitchen and dialed the doctor's number, Jean following him, worried and confused.

"What's wrong, Papa?" Jean asked, but his father shushed him, listening to the person on the other line and asking for the doctor's services. Pierre's face grew grave after a moment, and he hung up the phone, turning to Jean.

"Mommy is sick, Jean," he said, and Jean cocked his head.

"What's all the fuss?" Èvelyne asked, looking vastly amused by Pierre's discomfort.

"Liliane is sick with a fever." His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him, and he whirled on Èvelyne, making some surprise flit through the crone's face. "You didn't even know or care about your daughter's condition?"

"But of course. If she chooses to refuse help or even some kind of sympathy, then I have no business with her." Èvelyne tilted her head upwards with a flippant air. "For all I know, Liliane's been sick for weeks. Always coughing and sleeping away her days. She can take care of herself, _non_?"

"You disgust me," Pierre said, his expression flattening to contempt and anger. He turned and stormed off to Liliane's bedroom. "The doctor won't be here for a few hours. Let him in when he comes."

"Joy." Èvelyne shook her head, not looking at all thrilled. Then she noticed Jean still standing in the kitchen and said, "What do you want, you rat? Don't tell me you're hungry again."

Jean decided, wisely, to go to his room and not deal with his grandmother. He began to ponder what was wrong with his mother and why his father looked upset. However, he knew getting involved due to his curiosity might not benefit him or his parents. So he sat in his room and stared at the building blocks that lay in the same spot on the floor. He could hear muted chat from his mother's bedroom next door, but he had no desire to eavesdrop.

When the doctor did show up, Jean ventured from his room to investigate as the white-uniformed man, led by Pierre, strode through the hallway. The man looked haggard and grim as he entered the bedroom. Jean hurried into the room as the doctor came to Liliane—who was sitting up in bed by now—and opened his instrument bag.

"Tell me what's wrong with you," the doctor said as he put on rubber gloves and took out a stethoscope, listening to her heartbeat.

"Well...I've had a persistent cough, and I just don't feel well at all."

"Okay, and how long have you been feeling this way, Madam?"

"For four years. It had only just started getting worse around three weeks ago." Tears welled in her eyes after she turned her head and coughed to the side, her body shaking again. "What's wrong with me, Doctor?"

The doctor took out a thermometer and stuck it under Liliane's tongue, feeling her forehead. "You've felt this way for four years, you said?" he asked instead, looking at her, shock in his eyes.

"Yes. After I gave birth to my son... It was a hard birth, and I don't think I ever recovered fully from it," Liliane said, still looking frightened, after the doctor took the thermometer and analyzed the mercury reading.

A soft snort sounded and made Jean look to see Èvelyne standing in the doorway, but the doctor and Jean's parents appeared to not hear her.

"Hm, judging by your internal body temperature, you're running a fever. Can you tell me other symptoms of your condition?" the doctor asked, his grave face looking even more grim now.

"I feel heavy and I have these chronic coughs that don't go away, even when I sleep. Sometimes I feel so cold and I shake. It scares me..."

The doctor stood and put away his instruments. He took a breath, then said, "You have pneumonia. Judging by what you've said, you've had it for weeks, possibly years, without realizing it. You need treatment immediately before it advances anymore."

Dread filled Liliane's expression. "It's...advanced?"

"If you let an illness or disease linger for as long as you had, it will most certainly progress into its more advanced stages. Also, I would advise the rest of your family to be checked for pneumonia as well. Such prolonged exposure will have affected them as well." The doctor looked at Pierre and Jean before turning back to Liliane. "Why didn't you call me sooner and tell me of your sickness?"

"Because she's too weak and cowardly to call for help," Èvelyne said, coming into the bedroom now, her cane thumping the linoleum floor. "She thinks being reserved and hiding away in her room will solve all her problems."

"Who are you?" the doctor asked, looking startled.

"I'm Liliane's mother, and I know my daughter is a fool in more ways than one." Èvelyne shuffled closer, pointing her cane at Liliane. "She thinks all of this will go away if she just sleeps it off and remains happy. She's wrong; in this society, happiness is only achieved by greatness and wealth. She's killing herself for nothing."

"You didn't notice her symptoms at all since they occurred?"

"Of course not; I'm not her caretaker anymore. Liliane's a grown woman now. She can care for herself without "Mommy" taking over for her. I've done it for twenty years of her life and I've had enough. I'm not going through that part of my life again."

"I see." The doctor's eyes hardened. "All of you need an in depth diagnosis to make sure the pneumonia pathogen is dormant. There is no doubt that each of you are infected, and it's only a matter of time before symptoms show, unless they already have."

"Can you do a diagnosis now?" Pierre asked, looking bleak.

"Not now. I have four other patients to see today, and for each minute I waste I risk their deaths." The doctor gathered his bag and began to walk out the room. "However, I suggest you head straight to my office tomorrow and my assistant and I will assess your conditions. It is imperative that your child receives a diagnosis as well." He looked at Jean. "Pneumonia in children has the potential to kill them rather quickly if left untreated."

Liliane's eyes welled, and she covered her face as she heard this, Pierre rubbing her shoulder. Only Èvelyne remained stoic and cold to the news, her mouth twitching in the beginnings of a smile. The doctor left without another word, his bag's contents clunking, and only then did Èvelyne's eyes blaze. "You've brought death upon us all, Liliane! What were you thinking to put off going to see the doctor?"

"I thought it was a simple cold, not full blown pneumonia." Liliane's voice grew soft as she looked at her mother, tears running down her cheeks. "I figured it would go away in time..."

"So you thought," Èvelyne said, sounding nasty. "Now look what happened. Imagine the expenses we have to pay for the medicine for all of us. I hope you regret your ignorance for as long as you live."

"Get out, Mother. I can't deal with you anymore." Liliane coughed, the exertion exhausting her, and she lay back on the bed. "Get out." Her voice was weak.

"Hmph!" Èveylne followed Liliane's wish, leaving the bedroom. Silence filled the air, and Jean shifted his feet, looking from Liliane to Pierre. Pneumonia sounded scary and unnatural to him. The notion that he might have it scared him even more. Suddenly, he wanted to cower under his blanket and erase everything he had heard. He didn't care when his stomach growled; his concerns about himself and his parents were far more important than his usual woes.

As if hearing his inner thoughts, Pierre said, "Jean, go to your room. Mommy and I have to talk alone."

Jean nodded, glad to have been given a reason to leave without being cowardly, and left. He could feel Èvelyne's eyes on him as he entered the hallway and he surpassed a shiver. He didn't turn to look her in the eye; he continued on to his room and climbed into bed, looking at the ceiling. The dread that swirled in him returned again, and he curled into a ball, wondering what was going to happen to him and his family.

* * *

><p>Translations:<p>

mon bèbè- My baby

Tais-toi!- Shut up!

Chèri- Darling

Non- No

Maman- Mommy

Grand-mère- Grandmother


	3. Turning Point

L'espion Rouge

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: Well, Damn, this chapter took far too long to finish. I do so apologize, but college has caught up to me, shall we say. I'm already moving on to chapter four, and I'm hoping it won't take as long as this one had. Now without further ado, start reading.__

__A/N2: Also, let me know if some parts in this chapter are choppy or rushed. Thanks.__

* * *

><p>Chapter Three<p>

Turning Point

* * *

><p>The flickering sunlight and the sound of footsteps and a cane woke Jean a few days later, and he looked into his grandmother's eyes as she entered his room. He knew what was coming, but he refused to show any kind of weakness to her. She held a glass of water in her left hand and a white pill in her right hand, and he sat up when she stood by his bed and huffed.<p>

"Open your mouth," Èvelyne said, and Jean did as told, feeling the antibiotic pill stick to his tongue, a bitter taste radiating through his mouth. "Now drink." She handed him the water glass, which he downed without hesitation, not stopping to take a breath until the lingering aftertaste disappeared. He shuddered and coughed after handing the glass back to his grandmother, his appetite leaving him.

When Èvelyne left, Jean lay down and thought about what had happened since the doctor's visit. The next day, Èvelyne, Liliane, and Jean went to the doctor's office and waited for the assistant to call them into the examination room. Jean remembered seeing white plaster walls, the somewhat dirty tile floors, and five old wooden chairs inside the waiting room, and, strangely, it reminded him of home, which eased his nerves a little. He glanced about at every sound, no matter if it was the sound of birds singing outside or the sound of the nearby window creaking. He sat between his mother and Èvelyne, twiddling his thumbs, not knowing what to do.

After a while the assistant called them into the examination room, and everything happened in a whirl to Jean. The doctor and his assistant checked him first, giving him a throat culture, listening to his lungs as he breathed, and asking him questions. He tried to answer them as best as he could, and soon his diagnosis was done. He watched his mother and grandmother undergo the same procedure, the doctor prescribing antibiotics to them afterward. The doctor provided them with strict instructions about the medication and how long to take it, and the information made Jean's head hurt; he was glad when he, his mother, and his grandmother returned home.

Every morning, Jean and his family had to take a small white pill with water. Even though the pill tasted awful, Jean knew he had to take it; he didn't want to develop pneumonia just like his mother had. The illness still frightened him, and he would have nightmares of coughing and feeling pain in his chest. A pain that never stopped. When he woke, crying in the darkness of his room, his mother never dashed in to comfort him. The pneumonia antibiotic made her fall into a dense sleep, never waking to any sound. He knew Èvelyne wouldn't dash in to soothe him, so he attempted to calm himself down, breathing heavily, trying to quell his sobs.

Now, as Jean lay in bed, swallowing to rid himself of the pill's aftertaste, he wondered if it would help him and his mother. He didn't feel any different; all he endured were the side effects of the antibiotic: drowsiness, decreased appetite, and the horrible aftertaste. However, he kept his guard up, anticipating when something drastic would befall him.

The doorbell rang suddenly, making Jean flinch. The thumping sounds of Èvelyne's cane reverberated through the hallway, and he listened as his grandmother opened the door and greeted someone. A new voice that he had never heard before entered his ears, and his curiosity piqued. He ventured from his room and saw his grandmother and a graying-blonde haired woman with brown eyes and a face full of wrinkles. They appeared to be friends to him, for they acted as through they knew each other.

"Oh, Èvey darling, it's been too long since we last spoke. What's been happening with you and the family?" the woman asked after embracing Èvelyne, her voice hoarse and giddy sounding.

"Same old, same old, except we all have pneumonia," Èvelyne said, her voice snide.

"What?" The woman took a step back from Èvelyne, looking concerned. "How?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous, Mariette." Èvelyne huffed. "We're on medication, so you don't have to keep your distance. My foolish daughter just doesn't know how to take care of herself."

"Really? What did she do?"

Jean entered the kitchen at this point, interrupting their conversation.

"Oh, is this Liliane's son?" Mariette turned to look at Jean, her wrinkles making her face look twisted as she smiled. "How precious!"

"Don't even pay him any mind. He's a spoiled brat, just like his mother." Èvelyne waved a hand, her expression contemptuous. "What do you want, Jean?"

"I bet he wanted to come meet me, isn't that right?" Mariette's coo made Jean's stomach clench. Her voice didn't sound at all friendly or soft, and it made him uneasy. However, he nodded, making her giggle, which sounded even more horrible. Faintly, Jean could smell smoke from her clothes, and his nose flared. _What is that smell?_ he thought, looking at Mariette.

"Anyway, I brought the cards. You up for a quick game?" Mariette said, turning to Èvelyne again.

"Always ready." Èvelyne sat at the table, her gnarled fingers clasping together.

Mariette reached into her purse and took out a deck of cards, placing them on the table before she too sat. "I'll just let you know that I've learned a few tricks here and there. You might not win this time, Èvey."

Jean knew that he was invisible to them now, and he took this opportunity to leave and head back to his room. However, later on, he decided to head back into the kitchen and saw Èvelyne and Mariette still playing cards, looking quite engrossed in their game. The disgusting smell was back, and he could see smoke curling from his grandmother and her friend, a cigarette in their hands. They laughed together, as they doled cards, oblivious to Jean.

"I heard Cécile had gone quite mad lately. She's been screaming about the Nazis and how they're plotting to destroy France. Personally I think she's just taking that from her lover," Mariette said, her lips curling into a smirk. "He's a German Jew."

"And why aren't we surprised?" Èvelyne shook her head. "Cécile moves from one obsession to another. First she obsessed over how this Depression will make us become like the Bolsheviks, then she went on and on about how America secretly wants to backstab us and Europe and take our lands, and now she's doting on Nazis."

"She's absolutely ridiculous. Three of a kind, Évelyne. Looks like you might be in trouble." Mariette placed her three cards down and took a small stack of poker chips, making Èvelyne growl and take a drag of her cigarette.

"_Baise_. Don't forget who's still winning this game though, Mariette." She laughed, gesturing to her stack of poker chips.

Mariette joined her in laughter as they shuffled their cards and drew new ones, placing bets. Then she sobered and said, "Speaking of those Nazis, I heard Germany's planning something big. Hitler has some crazy plans, and his violation of the Treaty of Versailles was one of them."

"Tell me something I don't know." Èvelyne huffed. "Everyone's going crazy about that violation. So what? He didn't declare outright war on us. What's the big problem?"

"That's true. But Hitler signed the treaty and promised to remain within his nation's borders. We all knew Hilter was mobilizing Germany in secret, but we didn't expect him to pull this trick. Who knows what he'll do next."

"Oh please. Don't give me that nonsense." Èvelyne took a deep inhale of her cigarette before smashing it into the nearby ash tray. "If we crushed Germany in the Great War, the we can crush them again if they declare war."

"We only won because the Yankees aided us. Without them, we would have been crushed instead."

"Oh, those Yankees. Everyone talks about them and their heroics. Tch! I find they're selfish hypocrites, always harping about freedom and democracy." Èvelyne's lip curled.

"But they're our closest allies. We can't underestimate what they've done for us before and after the Great War."

_Great War?_ Jean cocked his head as he glanced from Èvelyne to Mariette. He couldn't understand what they were talking about, and he had a feeling this was something he shouldn't have eavesdropped upon, but his curiosity overrode his thoughts. He stuck around as his grandmother and her friend spoke, trying to comprehend them.

Just then, a boom of thunder sounded, and Jean cowered, a small whimper escaping him.

Èvelyne and Mariette appeared not to hear the thunder, but they certainly heard his whimper, and they turned to face him.

"The little brat has returned." Èveylne's sneer grew. "What, you grew bored playing hide and seek by yourself?"

"Perhaps he wants to watch us. Is that right, Jean?" Mariette giggled.

Despite both women making him uneasy, Jean knew he would rather face Mariette than his grandmother. He looked at her and nodded instead as a roll of thunder echoed, the soft pitter-patter sounds of rain following. Mariette laughed again and beckoned for him to sit at the table.

Not wanting to refuse, Jean obeyed and sat in the chair, twiddling his thumbs, feeling uncomfortable.

"Now, shall we return to our game?" Mariette asked, looking at Èvelyne, a gleam in her eyes.

"Let's."

The women discarded their hands and drew new cards, Mariette taking a deep inhale of her cigarette, blowing out the smoke and giggling. Jean watched as they forgot his presence, and he sat, shifting in his seat, wondering if he would be able to sneak away without drawing their attention. It made him think of the power that entered him when he hid in the closet, ready to leap out and surprise. How peaceful he felt, knowing he was alone and that no one could see him. He relished that feeling; he longed for invisibility, to be able to disappear for a while and come back to the world as he pleased.

"Hah! Flush! You're finished, Èvelyne!" Mariette placed her cards down and drew all the poker chips on the table to her side, a smirk on her wizened, ugly face.

"_Merde!_" Evelyne stood, slamming her palms against the table. "You always seem to best me whenever I start getting good hands. I can't believe this."

"Hee hee!" Mariette slapped her knee as she broke down into laughter, her face twisting into itself. "Perhaps you need to brush up on your skills."

"No. I think a certain person here had given me bad luck."

Jean didn't even have to look to know Èvelyne meant him. He sighed under his breath and slunk out of the kitchen, hearing his grandmother spew a few more nasty words at him. He blocked them out and went into the closet, desiring for a chance to disappear. As he crouched in the darkest corner, he felt sudden tears prick his eyes. Èvelyne's constant abuse bit into him day by day, and only now did he realize why. Of course, as a naïve child, he had disregarded all the signs, trying to live in an optimistic, carefree world. However, his grandmother's words always reminded him of the darkness in his life. The darkness he could not escape, no matter where he hid.

Not even his mother provided much comfort; she always seemed to shy away from the world, lost in the blankets and bed of her room. He contemplated going there and snuggling with her, but he knew he had to be strong. He was everything Èvelyne hated and he wanted to change that. He clenched a fist and felt his tears dry, imagining himself as someone he wasn't. Someone his grandmother would respect.

* * *

><p>Jean opened his eyes and was startled to find a faint gloomy light outside the closet. Figuring he had fallen asleep, he stood, feeling a numbing pain radiate from his neck to his shoulders, and headed out into the hallway, seeing faint light emanating from the nearby gas lamp on the wall. He walked to his room as his eyes adjusted, knowing Èvelyne wouldn't make him food or even provide him with anything of sustenance.<p>

A cough sounded, and Jean cringed, knowing it came from his mother. For some reason, dread roiled in his stomach and made him pause.

At once, a barrage of coughing followed the first, and Jean went to investigate, feeling more and more unsettled. The thumping of Èvelyne's cane sounded, and he turned to face her, seeing her face look tight.

"What now?" The crone headed into Liliane's room, slamming open the door and stalking over to Liliane's bed. She watched her daughter writhe on the bed, locked in the spasms of her coughs. However, no sympathy came from Èvelyne; only a cold apathy reigned.

Jean rushed into the bedroom as well, feeling his heart begin to race as Liliane's coughs grew bronchial and hoarse.

"_Maman_!" he said, going over to her. "_Maman!_"

"Hush, Jean. There's enough noise in this room. I don't need your contribution as well," Èvelyne said, a reproach in her voice. She huffed and lifted Liliane to a seated position, holding on tight despite her daughter's wild flailing. Without hesitation, she slapped Liliane's back, making Jean's eyes widen. "I thought these pills worked. You're even worse off now than you were, Liliane. Now stop coughing and breathe." Her slaps became even more pronounced, and Liliane's body began to quiver in her grip.

Jean watched as his mother grew less and less responsive, her coughs worsening, becoming long and drawn out despite Èvelyne's attempt to help. Fright laced through him, and he remained rooted to the spot, looking at nothing but his mother. He knew he couldn't provide any help; he was just a young boy. However, as seconds flew by, he felt he should do something. The look of agony on his mother's face struck him.

Now Èvelyne began to look somewhat disturbed. "Come on, breathe! This has been going on for long enough. Can't you see I'm trying to help?" She whacked Liliane's back now. "You never seem to appreciate what I do for you, do you, _Fille_. You've always resisted me, pushing me away and putting your woes on me. When will you learn the err of your ways?"

As if Èvelyne's words were magic, Liliane's coughs subsided and she took a huge breath, tears coursing down her face. Jean's body quaked, but he held himself back from launching at his mother and reassuring himself that such a horrible ordeal would never happen again.

Liliane deflated in Èveylne's arms, her thin bosom rising and fluttering weakly, and only then did Jean inch closer to her, feeling tentative.

"Now get some rest." Èvelyne lay Lililane down and stood, giving her a scrutinizing look. "Do you need water?"

"No." Liliane's voice was paper-thin.

"All right." Èvelyne exited the room, leaving Jean with his mother.

"Jean. Stay with me." Liliane's voice sounded detached, and it made Jean leap into the bed and embrace her, tears running down his face.

"_Maman_." He took in the comfort of her body, snuggling into her shoulder as she drew the covers around them. He could feel his horror fade as he embraced her, feeling suddenly so young. For the first time in a long while, he felt happy. Nothing else mattered more to him now than this moment. As he composed his emotions, he could felt a heavy weariness come over him.

"Oh, _mon doux bébé _Jean. I'm sorry..." Liliane's sentence trailed off, but Jean ignored this, feeling himself succumb to rest. Not even when his mother's grip slackened around him did he take any notice. He simply let himself go, taking in his mother's body warmth and allowing himself to be himself and absorb all the comfort he could from her as he fell asleep.

Jean's inner eyes opened to see two paths in front of him. He found he was alone, but, oddly enough, he didn't feel nervous or even skittish. Rather, he felt nothing as he regarded the two paths. The roads, both dirt and full of rocky chunks, led to different destinations. One road led to a dark forest, the trees' branches looking like sharp brambles and barbed wire. The other road led to a distant city, and he could hear faint noises coming from it. Consciously, he knew he had a choice to make, a choice that would give him a preview of his future, consequences and all.

The stagnant sun shone on Jean, a few cirrus clouds drifting through the sky. A few trees outside of the forest dotted the landscape around him, and medium-sized boulders lay even further beyond the trees. He knew hesitating for any longer would get him nowhere; he had to choose now. However, he was unsure of both places, not knowing what to expect or what expected him. However, the city enticed him, the sounds coming from it were melodious and natural. The forest, on the contrary, looked like death; it was cold and rigid and its darkness stretched beyond his vision. The branches appeared to twist and undulate on their own without a catalyst, and it made him shiver.

Jean lingered for a few moments more before he took his first step toward his choice. Just as he did so, his vision faded, only to be replaced with blackness. He opened his eyes to find himself in his mother's bedroom, the soft sunlight streaming into the room from behind the curtains.

He looked to see his mother beside him, her eyes closed, looking peaceful for the first time in weeks. Despite something telling him to leave his mother be, Jean's stomach overruled his instincts, and he shook his mother. "_Maman_, I'm hungry."

His mother didn't respond, which encouraged him to try again. "_Maman_, wake up."

That's when he realized his mother wouldn't move despite his efforts, and he cocked his head. Usually she would administer to his needs immediately, regardless of where she was in the in house when he called for her. A strange underlying feeling came to him, but he disregarded it, hearing the familiar shuffle and cane thumping of Èveylne in the hallway.

"_Grand-mère_!" Jean called, and Èveylne came into the room, her brow raised.

"What are you doing in here?" she asked. "Too scared to sleep alone?"

"_Maman_ won't wake up." Jean ignored the contempt in her voice.

Èvelyne's expression became one of bemusement as she came closer, then her eyes flew open as she saw Liliane's still body. She reached and touched her daughter's skin, and then her clouded eyes seemed to darken. "We're doomed."

"Why?" Jean looked at her.

Without another word said, Èvelyne stalked from the room and headed to the telephone. Jean, meanwhile, curled next to his mother, trying to shake her awake again. However, she didn't move, the same peaceful look on her face. _Why won't Maman move?_ he thought, feeling frantic. He wanted answers, even though he knew he wouldn't receive any. Suddenly, he wanted comfort, an escape from the complexities attempting to unnerve him. He snuggled closer to his mother, hoping his body contact would revive her.

"Jean. You need to get out of here." Èvelyne returned after a few moments, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the door. Her face looked even more twisted than usual. "Go to your room."

"But what about _Maman_..." Jean tried to resist, but his grandmother's grip was vice-like.

"Don't worry about her. Do as I say and go to your room, now!" Èvelyne threw him out of the room and slammed the door.

Jean stood, looking at the door. He still couldn't understand his grandmother's actions, nor could he understand what had happened since he woke. Everything had progressed too quickly for him, and his mind began to whirl with questions. Questions that would never be answered.

The sound of boots came to his ears, and he looked to see three black-clad men enter the house, apathetic looks on their faces. Two of them carried a hospital stretcher, heading through the hallway. Jean watched as they came closer, noticing that all three of them sported thin, carefully groomed black mustaches.

"Out of the way, Son," one of the men said, pushing Jean back and continuing on his way to Liliane's bedroom. The other two men didn't spare Jean a glance. They entered the bedroom and closed the door behind them, silence reigning in the house until another set of boots sounded. This time, Pierre appeared, a haggard, haunted look on his face. His chest moved rapidly.

"Papa!" Jean wanted to rush over to his father, but Pierre passed him without any acknowledgment. He too entered the bedroom and closed the door, not looking back.

Jean's lips trembled as he gazed at the closed door. Now his father disregarded him too? Hurt filled him, and he hoped he would get attention later. Something in him told him to stay out of the way and wait, and he did, not heading to his room but to the closet. He wanted to disappear, even though it seemed he didn't exist anymore to his father or to anyone else now.

Safe in the arms of the darkness, he sat in his corner, waiting for time to pass, wanting someone to tell him of what happened to his mother. Then a thought occurred to him: What if his mother wouldn't wake from her comatose? What if she remained in her current state forever? His eyes widened, and he heard a loud thump sound from the bedroom. A glimmer of hope came to him; perhaps his mother had just woken. Maybe she was just playing a prank to scare everybody. However, this didn't seem to be logical to him; the way his grandmother and his father had brushed him aside proved that. And what about those three mustachioed men? Who were they? Why were they here?

He let himself contemplate, hoping he could unravel the mysteries. Another thump sounded, then the bedroom door opened. Jean waited, motionless, seeing a flash of white and the three mustachioed men. They seemed to be carrying something, and, with a closer look, Jean saw it was his mother.

Something gripped him, and he rushed out of the closet, startling the men. In another situation he would have giggled profusely and raced back into the closet again, but this time he launched himself at the men.

"_Maman_!" he said. "No!" He felt someone grasp him, and he struggled, crying out louder, "No! Let me go!"

The men looked at him, then shrugged and left the house, taking Liliane with them. Jean howled and almost broke free from his captor's grip until Èvelyne came over, the look in her eyes stilling his motions. He twisted his head to see that his father was the one who held him, not saying a word, the look in his eyes chilling him.

"Take him to his room, Pierre." Èvelyne shook her head and headed to the guest room. "This will be his first lesson about death, and not his last."

Jean hung in his father's arms like a ragdoll as Pierre took him to his room, closing the door and placing him on the bed.

"Son, a lot has happened today, and I'm sure you're confused. What I'm going to say won't make sense to you, but try to understand, okay?" Pierre took a shuddering breath. "Jean, _Maman_ is dead."

"Dead?" Jean's brow furrowed at the strange word. It had some visceral meaning to it, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it was or why.

"It means to not live anymore. _Maman'_s not coming back; those men took her away to bury her. She's gone."

Pierre's words sunk in Jean's head, and he began to wail as his father embraced him, his powerful arms enveloping him. "I want Maman!" He began to tremble in his father's arms. "Why won't she come back?"

"I'm sorry, Jean." Pierre kissed Jean's head and ruffled his hair. "Your mother was a wonderful woman, but we have to move on now." The haunted look returned to his expression as he attempted to comfort his son. "She wouldn't want us to grieve for too long, but it's going to be hard for you..."

Jean soaked in his father's comfort, feeling as though this moment was akin to the many nightmares he had. Possibly, if he closed and open his eyes, he would wake and see that his mother had never left with those three mustachioed men and was still alive. However, after several tries, he still found himself in the same reality. He knew his father was right, and this tore at him even more.

"That's good enough, Pierre. Leave Jean alone for now; I have something pressing to share with you." Èvelyne's voice sounded from outside the door, and Pierre stood, giving Jean one more tight embrace.

"I'll come back and talk to you later on, okay?" he asked, and Jean nodded with a sniffle.

When he left, Jean lay in bed, curled in a fetal position, feeling a numbness come over him. Everything sunk into him, and he analyzed his life in a new perspective. Hope trickled from him, his tears soaking his pillow. He sensed that his life had changed, and this made fear twist his heart. What would happen now? Would his father disappear too, leaving him with his grandmother for the rest of his days?

_How could Maman be gone? Didn't the bad-tasting pill help her?_ Jean wondered as he wrapped his blanket around him. _Will I disappear with those men next? Will Grand-mère?_ He didn't know what to do except cry and toss and turn on his bed. He hoped his father would return soon and give him more reassurance.

That's when he heard his grandmother say, "What?!" her voice piercing through the room's walls. He jerked, feeling himself grow tense, focusing on her words as she spoke again, "You have got to be kidding! You think I want to take care of your little brat?"

Pierre's voice followed. "Jean's the only hope for our family to stay together, you wretch. You would deny him of care and sympathy as well?"

"I took care of my own kids a long time back. I wish not to undergo that part of my life again. I've had enough of whining, petulant children, always demanding for this and that. Your son is no different, except he's a coward and a farce."

A crash sounded, followed by a yelp, and Jean rushed out of his room to the hallway, seeing Èvelyne hunched over, holding her face. Near her, the kitchen table lay on its side, some wood chips littering the floor.

"You...dare!" Her voice trembled, her hands dropping from her face, and she flinched as Pierre kicked a chair out of his way and strode over to her, fists clenched at his side.

"I will not have you berate Jean anymore. Either you follow my wish, or you get the hell out of my house. You've had nothing but contempt for my son since he was born." He leered into Èvelyne's face. "He's a mere boy, Èvelyne. You have no right to trash his dreams and make him miserable. You only care for yourself, and that's the real problem here, not Jean. Destroy whatever hatred you have in you and be done with it. Now clean this place up." Pierre turned and left, slamming the door behind him, a nearby picture rattling.

Jean stood by his bedroom door, watching his grandmother regain her composure and glance at the table. Never had he seen such an aggressive display from his father before, and it scared him.

His grandmother fixed the table and positioned it and the chairs in their original spots before heading to the guest bedroom and closing the door. She never said a word.

Jean headed to the guest bedroom after a moment, pausing upon hearing a sound come to his ears. He listened close, curious. To him, it sounded like crying, and his eyes widened. _Grand-mère's crying?_ There was no mistaking it; it was coming from his grandmother.

He couldn't believe it. Of course, he wanted to see if it was true, but, instead, he decided to go to his mother's room. He didn't want to disturb Èvelyne, nor did he want her to shoot words of hatred at him.

He entered the empty room, the blinds still closed and the clothes still strewn about the dresser. Tears ejaculated from his eyes anew, and he rushed to the bed, climbing into it. The bed was cold to him.

Jean's numbness returned as he wrapped himself in the strewn blankets, wanting comfort. Wanting his mother back. However, he knew she was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do about the immense pain in his heart. This was far worse than his grandmother's cruelty. This was hell itself to him.

When sleep finally took him later on, he allowed the familiar blackness to take him and transport him to a world much better than his own. A world where death was impossible.

* * *

><p><span>Translations:<span>

Maman- Mommy

Grand-mère- Grandmother

Baise- Fuck

Merde- Shit

Fille- Daughter

Mon doux bébé- My sweet baby


End file.
